Billionaire Brothers 01-04 The Complete Serial Box Set Read online

  Wait, what?

  “Oh gee I don’t know,” I laughed gamely. “Nursery rhymes?”

  “Right?” he said to his date, cuffing her arm. “You see what I mean? How simplistic?”

  “Simplistic?” I repeated as lightheartedly as I could.

  “Well, let’s just say… unoriginal,” he conceded grandly. “I mean obviously it’s very good, but the artist just has nothing new to tell us, you know? Like a nursery rhyme!”

  I felt the smile on my face go all rigid and weird, threatening to crack into an uncontrollably ugly expression at any second. I teetered on my heels and said Huh thoughtfully a few times as my mind whirled in a panic.

  “I don’t know… I guess I see what you mean,” I said, hearing the enthusiasm leak from my own voice as I began to realize I could see what he was saying. Exactly.

  “You know, I think Annie is actually here tonight!” I blurted out with a manic tremble.

  “Oh? She is?” he said, craning his neck as though he expected her to materialize behind me.

  “I think so! You know what - why don’t you get the story straight from the horse’s mouth, so to speak!”

  The woman clapped her hands very fast under her chin and he beamed happily. I excused myself politely, congratulating myself silently on how I didn’t fall over or burst into tears or anything. It was her sale; I figured the least Annie could do was close the deal. I could only hope he would begin his speech anew for her.

  I found Annie hiding out by the ladies room, all big eyes and Olive Oyl elbows. She stared at me as though she did not understand the words that were coming out of my mouth until I finally just turned around and left her there with her mission: go sell your work, lady.

  Turning on my heel, I caught Bridget’s eye again as though she had been waiting for me. She raised her hand over her head in another come-hither gesture and I begrudgingly started to trudge across the polished concrete floor.

  “Practically a done deal,” I reassured her when I was in earshot. “I need wine. Do you need wine?”

  “No I need you keep doing what you’re doing. Oh god, is Annie talking to them?”

  “Um yes probably?”

  “Sonofabitch,” she hissed, hanging her hands on her hips and leaning her weight on one knee.

  “God, you really do look like a mermaid, you know that?”

  “I need you over by Adam’s sculptures.”

  “Geez, Ma, no!” I bawled with my head thrown back dramatically.

  “God, don’t do that. You look like a toddler. Umm…”

  “No, seriously, Bridge. Selling is so not my thing--”

  “Quiet,” she muttered under her breath.

  “What?”

  She froze like a statue, her eyes cast over my shoulder. I watched her posture slowly inflate. She was excited, I could tell. I stayed completely still until she could tell me what was happening, ready to catch her, run away, or whatever else the situation required.

  “Gentlemen?” she purred. “Thank you for coming. Are you enjoying the show?”

  “Just arrived,” came Declan’s voice over my shoulder, and with it a concurrent ribbon of chills up and down my spine. I took a deep, calming breath and turned around.

  “I like your shoes,” Jackson winked. I stood still while my heart thrummed like a hummingbird. Both their eyes wandered over my shoulders, my arms, the curves of my dress... on down to my knees, ankles, and the exposed glint of my red toenail polish in my buff-colored heels.

  “Oh my lord,” Bridget whispered behind me as they both drank me in for a long, long, far too long time.

  Declan held out a velvet box. I stared at it like it might go off.

  “It’s from both of us, as you requested,” he said wryly.

  “I didn’t, um… Oh OK--”

  I took it with trembling fingers, snapping it open and trying to bite back a gasp. It was a stylized M in diamonds and white gold. The M hung from a tiny loop at the top of each peak of the letter as though suspended evenly between the arms of the chain.

  “It’s… gorgeous,” I breathed.

  “It’s pretty good,” Jackson murmured, taking the necklace from the box and stepping behind me. I held my hair off the back of my neck as he worked the clasp.

  “You’re gorgeous,” he whispered, his breath brushing the back of my ear.

  “So, care to tour us around this event?” Declan winked one sky-blue eye at me and held out his elbow. I reached for it automatically and then spun around to look at Bridget. Her face was a mask of awe and disbelief.

  “Bridget, did you want to… Ohhhh, pooh! Your dress,” I reminded her with a dramatic lower-lip pout.

  “No, no, you go!” she said gaily, then leaned from her heels to deliver a couple air kisses near my cheeks.

  “I hate you so hard!” she muttered, just above hearing.

  “You’re the one who said to do whatever it takes!” I gloated.

  Turning back toward the Burkes, I took the elbows they offered me and steered them toward the front of the gallery. We walked the entire circuit with me chatting convivially about the artworks and the artists themselves.

  Every time another pair of eyes drank us in, I swear I got smarter and funnier. The other artists and the collectors looked at us like we were part of the exhibit. Everywhere I turned there was another slack-jawed patron, silently staring our trio up and down as though not quite understanding what they saw.

  I pretended not to notice the gawkers, but it was sort of delicious to be escorted by two beautiful men. As the interest accumulated, I got to really enjoy it.

  Live it up, girlfriend, I reminded myself. Those nursery rhymes aren’t going to sell themselves.

  After the main gallery, we headed back to the warehouse which had been set up as a sort of carnival. I had avoided it all afternoon. It stank like art school: a dizzying melange of desperation and pretension. But Declan appeared intrigued by the “rides” and “games.”

  A barker dressed like Salvador Dali greeted us with a grand sweep of his striped arms as we entered, handing us a fistful of glittering mylar tickets.

  “Enter the Night Carnivale, if you dare!” he sang. “Nothing is what it seems! Everything is what it is!”

  Declan chuckled and I held my tongue as we passed him, trying not to roll my eyes too hard. The spectacle was impressive, but as I had told Bridget: it was a ridiculously expensive waste of space. What collector would buy a giant pile of candy? A duck shoot with real stuffed ducks? A Tilt-A-Whirl where the cars were all repainted as giant, spinning skulls?

  “Woo! Skulls!” Declan said admiringly as we strolled past it, accepting fluffy balls of breast-shaped cotton candy from a strolling troubadour.

  “What do you know about the artist?” Jackson asked politely as we walked.

  “Well… not much, honestly. I didn’t see this part of the installation going in, but I think it’s actually a group of artists.”

  “I could totally see that Tilt-A-Whirl in Edna’s garden, can’t you?” Declan asked Jackson, leaning ahead of me to catch his eye.

  Jackson chuckled and shrugged. “Send her a picture. See what she says.”

  Declan pulled his arm away from me to retrieve his cell phone, holding it aloft and snapping a few photos while grinning happily.

  “You’re serious?” I said, unable to contain my petty disbelief any longer.

  “I never say--”

  “Things you don’t mean, right. Gotcha.”

  Clenching my jaw tightly closed, I tried to convince myself not to think about it.

  You’re letting your situation make you petty, I warned myself. You’re better than this. Don’t let it get to you.

  “So you mentioned Edna?” I said brightly, pasting an interested smile across my mouth.

  “Just a family friend,” Jackson replied as he palmed a softball at the milk-bottle toss. Instead of milk bottles, though, they had pyramids of Hummel figurines to smash. Shards of porcelain and assorted clown and c
herub heads littered the floor.

  Jackson noticed my expression and replaced the softball in the divot.

  “But I could win a defaced AOL cd if I knock over the pyramid,” he observed.

  “You sure could,” I said, as blandly as I was able as Declan sauntered up.

  “Now this is genius,” he proclaimed. “It’s like a statement of consumerism versus our culture’s pervasive disregard for the artifacts of progress. You know?” I shook my head stupidly. “You smash trash and get rewarded with more trash,” he prodded. “Well I think it’s awesome.”

  “It’s really something,” I offered.

  Jackson took my hand and guided it to the crook of my elbow so we could keep walking.

  “So, Edna lives in the hills… We like to pick her up something when we travel. It’s sort of a family tradition,” he said with a smirk. I wondered what sort of things Edna was forced to collect.

  “Oh, she loves it,” Declan assured me, taking my other hand so we could resume our side-by-side trio stroll. We started toward the carousel but the insane blaring of the backwards-played calliope music was too much to take from up close and we veered away.

  “I’m sure she does,” Jackson agreed. “Well, sort of. Anyway, she’s a really interesting lady. I think you will like her, Margot.”

  Margot. Oh lord he said my name again. I hope that continues.

  “Will like her?” I echoed, realizing what he had said.

  “Well, yes… We’ll arrange it with Bridget of course, but your work is right in her wheelhouse. Just what she’s been looking for.”

  “It will look awesome next to the Tilt-A-Skull,” Declan offered.

  “That’s… Wow you guys,” I breathed as the realization hit me. They were offering me a buyer.

  “It’s just business,” Jackson said lightly.

  No, it’s saving my life, I sighed inwardly. Hallelujah and pass the bacon!

  “Now if you did work like this,” Declan declared, holding out both his arms to the spectacle before us, “you’d be set for life.”

  “Ha… Really?” I said, notably more buoyant than I had been just a few moments before.

  “Yes… let’s get in line,” he demanded. Jackson maneuvered me toward the short queue of collectors and spectators. I begrudgingly looked over the installation. The words “Tunnel of Love” were painted in a garish arch over a portal, but the box was smaller than a shipping container, as far as I could tell.

  “This isn’t a tunnel… Who knows what they’re going to do to us once we get past that gate?”

  “Only one way to find out! This is why we have tickets!” Declan suggested, grinning from ear to ear.

  I looked to Jackson for a more sensible attitude, but he was no help, really. He just winked at me in encouragement and gently pulled my arm forward as the line advanced.

  “It’s best to just play along when he’s in this sort of mood,” Jackson suddenly whispered, very close to my ear. My shoulder broke out in goose flesh and I stifled a gasp. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he doesn’t go too far.”

  Something twinged deep in my belly as his warm breath tickled my earlobe and I shifted my weight, instantly feeling my panties go damp.

  Oh great, now I was going to have to sit through the Tunnel of Love in a puddle.

  Just cool your jets, I told myself. Think of your impending sales and the disappearing tax bill.

  As we waited in line, I snuck glances at the collectors and assorted faux-circus-freaks that walked by. Even in a warehouse full of people dressed as bearded ladies and aerialists, our threesome got a lot of attention. My skin prickled under the universal scrutiny, and then lit up with every brush of Jackson’s or Declan’s sleeve or trouser leg. I was held between them like the M on my pendant, and the sensation was just a little unnerving.

  Everybody probably thinks we’re part of the show, I moaned inwardly.

  But was that so wrong, really? I was used to a little more privacy in my work and love life - Bridget even used the word “agoraphobic” occasionally - but I could appreciate a good spectacle as much as the next person, couldn’t I? I could live with a little more attention, at any rate.

  I tried to imagine Bridget’s reaction, hoping for a Oh honey, sure, everybody wants to be in a billionaire sandwich from time to time. You should run with it. But instead I got a clear picture of her purple-puckered lips and painted eyebrows raised sky-high. Oh, girl...

  As we got to the front of the line, Declan held out his mylar slips to the ticket taker. The faux-carnie bit an unfiltered cigarette between his teeth and nodded at us with his chin.

  “You together?” he drawled as the trio of art students in front of us ducked through the multi-colored vinyl curtain.

  I nodded briskly, sort of impressed with his convincing depiction of a strung out carnival worker. He reached over and unhooked the chain from the post, his eyes diving unapologetically down my cleavage.

  “Just wait,” he muttered as the trio disappeared. His greasy black hair clung to his forehead in several meager stripes. After about a minute he nodded and dodged his head to look at the people behind us, so we walked into the giant painted clown’s mouth that marked the entrance of the tunnel, Declan and Jackson close beside me.

  “So realistic!” Declan muttered appreciatively.

  Suddenly we were plunged into pitch darkness. I stopped in my tracks and held my breath, waiting for something to happen. One of the brothers bumped into me from behind, hard, and I started to lose my balance. My hands flew out in front of me as a strong arm slipped deftly around my waist and held me up.

  “Sorry, Margot,” came Declan’s voice against my shoulder.

  I laughed nervously. I was glad he didn’t let me fall, but the sudden sensation of his strong arm around me and his breath under my ear sent thrilled shivers through my body.

  “Hold on,” I heard Jackson say. His cell phone flashlight popped on, illuminating the small chamber we were in.

  Declan backed away from me immediately, hiding his face in the shadows. My body still tingled from the contact. Instinctively, my hands smoothed my skirt down.

  Jackson swung the flashlight beam around, revealing three metal stairs on the far wall and an unlit bulb overhead.

  “Just a burnt out light,” he said matter-of-factly and reached up a strong, muscular arm.

  “Well don’t touch it,” Declan warned. “That’s probably part of the experience or something.”

  “Er, OK,” Jackson said, dropping his arm. He held the flashlight in front of him and headed for the three metal stairs at the end of the small chamber.

  Declan followed close after him and I stepped lightly behind, keeping a careful grip on the cool, damp, and probably germ-ridden railing. Up the stairs, we kept close together and peered warily into the mostly-dark.

  We stood on a narrow platform overlooking a water-filled channel. A fluorescent black light bulb flickered erratically overhead, illuminating garishly spray-painted graffiti on the walls and a semicircular arch leading off into who-knows-where. Far away, some kind of cheesy recording of organ music and screams played.

  “Huh,” Jackson said dubiously. Immediately I felt bad, like I had let him down. Then I tried to crush that feeling. I didn’t make the tunnel - why was I so worried about whether or not he was happy here?

  “What, not scary enough for you, man?” Declan teased in the dim light, his teeth glowing bluish from the intermittent black light. “Just think of what this place looks like in daylight… that should be pretty terrifying.”

  With a bang and a splash that made us all jump, the water started to move. As we peered to the left, a snub-nosed boat floated into view, stopping directly in front of a slanted handrail.

  “Hm,” Jackson said, close to my ear. “A real boat huh? That’s pretty impressive. Is there going to be another one? I don’t think we will all fit.”

  We stood there uncomfortably on the platform for a few seconds. Finally Declan sighed in frustra
tion.

  “We came for the Tunnel of Love, and that’s what we are doing. Dammit, Jackson, just get in!”

  Jackson blew his cheeks out and stood up straight as though assembling his resolve. He shrugged and reluctantly lowered a leg into the wobbly craft. The metal rang out like a gong when his foot hit the floor.

  “Huh, it’s all wet…” Jackson muttered.

  “That’s probably part of the experience. A commentary on our culture’s… Oh nevermind. Margot?” Declan said to me gallantly, indicating I should go next. I squinted at the narrow bench. It certainly would be a tight fit, but in the dim light, I thought we might just make it.

  Holding onto the rail, I lowered one foot, trying to feel for the bottom with my toes. Jackson kept his eyes politely averted from my knee and thigh, though I was acutely aware that if he would just glance this way, his eyes could slide right up the flimsy white dress I had worn.

  Sure enough, as soon as my toes sloshed through the water in the bottom of the vessel, my shoe slipped and I tumbled forward, landing hard across Jackson’s lap. My hands flew out to break my fall, and Jackson instinctively opened his arms like he was catching a football. His breath whuffed out as our chests collided and he threw his arms around me. The boat rocked dangerously from side to side.

  Instantly humiliated, I closed my eyes, hard, and tried to assess the situation. I wasn’t hurt, and there wasn’t any further to fall. But I had fallen right into his arms, and some part of my mind started cheering like the glee club.

  Holding onto him until the boat settled, I tried not to feel the hard bulges of his biceps under his thin black t-shirt, or smell the musky heat of his breath on my neck. But it was inescapable. He felt just like I had imagined: firm, lean, and strong. In the dark, the whole scene seemed preposterous and implausible like a willing dream. I had a nearly overwhelming urge to lick the salt from his neck.

  “You’re OK,” he murmured encouragingly in a tone that made me want to lay my head on his chest.

  “Yeah, sorry about that,” I muttered finally finding the power of speech. I tried to crawl backwards without tipping the boat again. A little voice warned me that I had to stop touching him, and soon.